


Send Nudes

by Mazarin221b



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dick Pics, First Time, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Post-Grand Prix Final, Selfies, Victor is a goddamn tease, Yuuri is tired of his shenanigans, Yuuri moves to Russia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 00:03:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11263806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazarin221b/pseuds/Mazarin221b
Summary: Based on a headcanon PrincessHarumi posted on Twitter: https://twitter.com/princessharumi_/status/876271578866122753Yuuri decides to start taking dick pics, mostly because Victor keeps sending his own. I could see it so clearly I just had to write it.Yuuri Kasuki is many things: anxiety-driven, romantically hapless, a complete nerd, unfailingly polite, a ridiculous drunk, and a champion skater.What he is not is completely stupid.Which is why he’s standing in front of a mirror in the bathroom at Yu-Topia, looking down at himself and realizing there is no way on this Earth he’s going to be able to take a picture of his cock and send it to Victor Nikiforov, currently 1,000 miles away in St. Petersburg, Russia, and getting his flat ready for Yuuri to move into in two weeks.





	Send Nudes

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a fun little romp to put some fuel in the tank for the next, emotionally grueling chapter of Silverlight. Enjoy! If you see any typos, could you PM me on Tumblr or twitter? Thanks much. I didn't grab a beta for this one.

 

Yuuri Kasuki is many things: anxiety-driven, romantically hapless, a complete nerd, unfailingly polite, a ridiculous drunk, and a champion skater.

What he is not is completely stupid.

Which is why he’s standing in front of a mirror in the bathroom at Yu-Topia, looking down at himself and realizing there is no way on this Earth he’s going to be able to take a picture of his cock and send it to Victor Nikiforov, currently 1,000 miles away in St. Petersburg, Russia, and getting his flat ready for Yuuri to move into in two weeks.

Two whole weeks.

Yuuri sighs. He’s got everything on his phone turned off: cloud sync, music sync, instagram has been forcibly stopped. Twitter is deleted. He’d gotten rid of his facebook account years ago. So why is this so … difficult?

Because he remembers when Jennifer Lawrence got her account hacked. He remembers hearing about sex tapes on the internet.

And as much as he trusts Victor not to share with the media – even his antics on the night of the Sochi banquet hadn’t gotten out – he does NOT trust that Victor won’t share with Christophe and next time around he’ll have to remember that Christophe knows what Yuuri’s erection looks like.

And, he thinks as he viciously towels his hair, he’s not even seen the real thing yet, like…like that. There’s a difference between onsen naked and naked-naked, and Yuuri knows that, he’s known it all of his life. And Victor’s never seen him hard, never seen him flushed and wanting and…

Oh, he thinks, looking down again.

Looking just like that.

Yuuri looks at himself in the mirror and realizes that’s precisely what Victor wants. But he’s just not ready. So he pulls on his briefs and hooks a thumb into the waistband, tugs them just a touch low on his hip. The ridge of his erection is clear in the side-shot, straining against the dark blue material, so Yuuri sets up his phone on a time delay, hops back into position, and grabs a good shot.

Perfect. That should do, right?

5:50AM V. Nikiforov:

<Yuuuuuuuri>

<Yuuri that picture is going to kill me.>

<I miss you. It’s boring here alone. I miss your kisses. I can’t wait to have you in my bed with me. I’m imagining you already. >

<I’ve already touched myself while looking at this.>

Victor sends a picture of himself, of the length of his entire body ensconced in a white bed, naked skin barely covered by rumpled white sheets.

You can die from sexual frustration, right? Like, have a heart attack and keel right over because the thing you’re experiencing is just too much for your body to take. He hopes not, because otherwise Yuuri’s never going to survive the next two weeks.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

It’s not that Yuuri hadn’t _wanted_ to have sex with Victor earlier, it’s just that they hadn’t really had the opportunity. After his silver at the Grand Prix, they’d had one night where Yuuri was both so exhausted and so keyed up all they did was get wasted at the banquet, try a rehash of the previous year, and pass out in the corner leaning on each other.  Christophe, and god knows who else, got plenty of incriminating shots of Yuuri’s head in Victor’s lap before he woke them up and got them off to their room.

Yuuri knows this because Chris sent him one with about fifteen laughing emojis on it. Fucker.

But anyway, they’d traded sweet, chaste kisses and long, mournful hugs the day after, as Victor took his quickly rescheduled flight to St. Petersburg and Yuuri went home to Hasetsu for a few weeks to pack and break the news to his family.

“Well, of course you’re going. Why on earth would you waste such an opportunity?” Minako had said, and Yuuri had beamed at her over heaping bowls of rice and seared sea bass and sake. He felt his phone ping with a message and he opened it at the table, Minako and Mari both expectantly waiting.

“Oh, it’s from Victor,” he started, but stuttered to a halt when he saw the attachment.

<This apartment is incredibly empty. I guess I have to bathe by myself. Seems strange, after bathing with you for 8 months.>

<attached image>

Victor’s shoulder and torso, gleaming wet. It’s clear from the photo he’s completely naked, though Yuuri can’t see anything above his neck or below his hip. But that’s a whole lot of Victor to look at anyway.

“What’s he say?” Mari prodded.

Yuuri held the phone to his chest and felt his face going bright red. “Er, ah, not much, just hi, that he’s back okay, that I have plenty of space for my things.” Yuuri could feel his heart pounding through his chest. It’s one thing to know your family suspects that your relationship with your coach isn’t exactly platonic, but showing them a body shot Victor decided you just needed to have right then isn’t really the way to tell them, either. Victor follows it up with a winking emoji.

<Care to share how much you miss me?>

<I AM AT THE DINNER TABLE VICTOR OH MY GOD>

<Later, then. I’m waiting.>

Yuuri had hastily retreated to his room under the puzzled gazes of his sister and best friend and flopped onto his bed. He’d not ever sent any pictures of himself quite like that, nothing that could get him in trouble if they got loose on the internet. But he…sort of wanted to.  Victor asking him for something like that was thrilling, illicit and sexy, and as Yuuri could feel himself growing warm looking at Victor’s picture, he wanted to make him feel the same way. So he dropped back onto the bed, pulled up the side of his shirt, and angled his camera until he got a great shot of the setting sun slanting across his abs and the curve of his ribs. Not bad. Sort of artsy, maybe a bit sexy. Victor would appreciate it, he thought.

<My god, Yuuri. How beautiful you look. I want to kiss you there, right over your hip.>

And it just devolved from there.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Over the next week Yuuri had to learn not to check his texts in public, because god knows what he’d get. Some things Victor would send were completely innocent. Some, not so much.

Victor fresh from a run with his shirt up and wiping his face.

Victor giggling with Makkachin licking his ear.

Victor taking a nice butt shot in front of the bathroom mirror, the dimples of his back on full display. He had turned a flirtatious eye over his shoulder, almost looking right through the camera, straight at Yuuri’s libido.

His neck, the bare edge of his open mouth visible, as if he were panting, hungry.

The blurred image of Victor, hard and wet, behind a frosted shower door, one hand splayed against the glass for balance. It looks like his other hand is gripping his cock, head bowed. (Yuri opened that one and spent a furious ten minutes jerking off in his room before sending back an image of his hand resting on his bare knee. Victor will get what he meant, he’s sure.)

But Yuuri himself hadn’t sent back anything really too incriminating, really hadn’t wanted to until the plaintive inquiry:

<I wish I could see your body. Do you not want me to?>

<No, that’s not it, I’m just. Nervous.>

<Don’t be. You’re beautiful. I still drool over the first picture you sent me. I won’t share.>

<But if this isn’t what you want, I will stop.>

Yuuri’s heart is in his throat. He loves Victor’s pictures. They make him feel a little less lonely, less unsettled. And the part of him that still shudders awake in the middle of the night with the feel of Victor’s kiss on his lips wants to make Victor want him. Imagines the beat of desire in Victor’s own body, for him. He can do this.

<PLEASE DON’T STOP.>

He’ll just have to be careful.

…………………………………………………….

So that’s how Yuuri finds himself standing in his bathroom again, a day after sending his clothed erection and receiving a replying string of heart and water drop emojis from Victor along with a gorgeous shot of Victor’s … oh dear God. That’s his knees, straight on, his lower half wrapped in a towel but his thighs are spread just enough Yuuri can see…he can see his cock, just starting to get hard under the towel with a hint of his balls resting plump behind it.  The head is just peeping out from his foreskin, the skin shadowed but obviously flushed and rosy.

Yuuri had to excuse himself from barre, Minako laughing after him as he scuttled off to the bathroom.

<You’re going to have to give me some warning! I’m wearing yoga pants!>

<Oooh, are you? Let me see.>

<Ugh, fine.>

Yuuri  used the mirror in the oversize bathroom to get a long shot of his body – completely clothed— and sent it before masturbating for the fifth day in a row. He’s actually starting to chafe.

<Mmmm. Going to lick the sweat off of that gorgeous butt when I see you.>

Yuuri had almost collapsed against the bathroom door, thinking about Victor’s tongue and what he might do with it. He’d been in there so long Minako had asked him if he was feeling well when he came out, and shooed him home when she saw his flushed face.  He tried not to notice the smirk she gave as she did, either.

But now, staring at himself stark naked in the Inn’s private bathroom mirror, he has a good, long look at himself. He really isn’t that worried about how he looks, precisely; he’s cut these days, the result of a grueling season, and his cock’s a bit bigger than average with a nicely flared head. The shaft fits comfortably in the ring of his first finger and thumb, and he strokes himself a few times to bring the flush of arousal up on his cheeks.

He thinks about Victor, so far away and waiting for him. He thinks about him wrapped in a sheet in his big, white bed, thinking about Yuuri and touching himself. Maybe he’s thinking about Yuuri’s body, about his ass, about _sex_ and _fucking_ and now Yuuri’s thinking about it too, about walking into Victor’s apartment, pushing him against the wall and ravishing him. About finding him after a shower, running his hands up those strong thighs, pushing the towel out of the way to nuzzle against Victor’s cock, lap at the slit and swallow him down. 

Yuuri looks at himself in the mirror. He looks wrecked, flushed and aroused so he reaches for his phone, opens the camera and snaps a pic of himself leaning against the wall, cock out and hard with his hand on it. His mouth is open in a silent moan. Yuuri drops the phone to finish himself off, Victor’s name on his lips.

As hot as it turned out, Yuuri deletes the pic later that night. Better safe than sorry.

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

<We miss you! Only three more days!>

Yuuri opens this attachment in the main room, pretty certain he’s going to get, yes, there it is, an adorable picture of Makkachin on her back, Victor rubbing her tummy and smiling at the camera. Yuuri can see bits and pieces of the apartment in the background, a place that will be home for him so very soon. The kitchen looks wide open to the living room, everything bright and light and clean. He can’t wait.

And only three more days until he can hold Victor in his arms again, smell his cologne where it lingers on his collar. Kiss his lips, his cheeks.

Strip him naked and see if he gives as good as he gets.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

If there is anyone in this world completely aware that what he’s doing is strictly forbidden, it’s Yuuri. Which is why he’s skulking about the onsen in the dead of winter at 2am, sneaking out onto the freezing decking and slipping into the steaming water. 

He’s grown up in this spring, so every time he slides into the water it’s like coming home. But now the memories are infused with Victor sitting with him, laughing over late-night sake, talking out programs, gossiping about other skaters and puzzling out life.

Two days as of tomorrow. Yuuri sinks down to his neck, slips his hands along his thighs, teases himself a bit until he can feel himself getting hard. He’s probably only got about ten minutes to do this before he gets too nervous about being caught, so he focuses on getting himself good and ready, warm and flushed again, so hard that it aches. Then he sets his phone timer for a multiple exposure shot, props it on the turned-off fountain so it gets a good view of the edge of the spring, and hops out to sit on the freezing cold side, thighs spread wide and his cock on full display. He leans back on his hands a bit and smirks at the camera. At least, he hopes it’s a smirk, he’s got to get it right in only a couple of tries.

He can see the backlight of his phone flicker as it takes the pictures, and he tries a few different expressions, his weight shifted a couple of times to one side or the other, before he wades back across and retrieves his phone, hops out and wraps himself in a towel and runs back inside. He showers off quickly to wash away all the minerals and ducks back to his room in only a pair of sweats. He dives for the bed and has a look.

Wow.

A few are goofy, sure, catching his expression mid-shift, but there’s one where he caught himself looking right at the camera with a come-hither gaze. That one he’s going to keep.  The light in the onsen is low, but glowing, and the reflections from the water light up his skin. It’s even better than he’d hoped for. He loads it up to text, decides against a filter, and gets ready to hit send.

He hovers over the button for a good thirty seconds before he stops. There’s no way he can send this. It’s more blatant and more graphic than anything Victor ever sent him. He’s not really hiding, or being shy or even attempting to disguise this as anything other than what it is. A nude pic for his…his boyfriend. To be aroused by.

He can’t do it.

It’s only around 7pm in St. Petersburg, so he deletes the pic and sends a text.

<I’m sorry. I have a great pic but I can’t send it. I’ll show you Friday.>

<It’s just fine, Yuuri. Only do what you’re comfortable with. And go to bed. You need rest. See you Friday.>

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

Touchdown in St. Petersburg immediately gives Yuuri butterflies. He’s been in the air for something near 16 hours and he’s exhausted, dragged out and worn thin, but the prospect of seeing Victor in the flesh has him nearly jumping out of his seat as soon as the seat belt sign is off. He’s out of his aisle seat in a flash, has his carryon in hand and is down the aisle before anyone can unfold themselves. He gets a few dirty looks and grumbles from other passengers as he bangs his way through First Class and mumbles to the attendants, and then he’s free.

He practically runs up the ramp, impatiently moves through customs as quickly as they allow – the national athlete designation on his passport is a blessing, dear god thank you for the advance clearance – and he ducks out into arrivals as quickly as his legs can carry him.

There. A flash of silver. A black-glove-clad hand raised in greeting.

“Victor!” he calls, and the solid weight of Victor in his arms, his lips against Victor’s neck and then against Victor’s own, makes him realize nothing could ever substitute for the physical reality that is Victor, welcoming him home, devouring his kisses, whispering in his ear.

“My God, it’s so good to see you,” Victor says, and kisses Yuuri’s knuckles, his ring. “Let’s go home.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The taxi ride from the airport is an eternity of silence, of Yuuri catching Victor’s gaze and smiling, shy and nervous and incredibly turned on, anxiety pushed to the side by anticipation of actually touching that which he’s been seeing on a tiny phone screen for weeks. Victor ducks his head a bit when Yuuri catches him staring, wearing a secret smile and a blush that reaches the tips of his ears.

Apparently Yuuri isn’t the only one anticipating.

They finally reach Victor’s apartment, situated in a high-rise that overlooks most of St. Petersburg.  Yuuri  drags in his suitcase behind Victor after he opens the door, slides it to the side and slips off his shoes.

“You can put your coat over there—“ Victor says, or rather, starts to say, because by the third word Yuuri has kicked the door shut and pins Victor up against the wall in the hallway by his hips and nips at Victor’s neck.

“You are an absolute filthy fucking _tease_ , Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuri growls. “Two weeks you’re sending me pictures and I couldn’t touch you.” Yuuri drags Victor’s coat from his shoulders and starts working on his buttons. Victor just drops his head back against the wall and lets him, threads one hand into Yuuri’s hair and sighs dramatically.

“Well, think about me! I never got to see anything! You left me so cold, Yuuri. So alone.” Yuuri rolls his eyes at Victor’s puppy dog expression and kisses his pretty pout.

“I’m here now, though. I can show you?” Yuuri asks, and Victor swallows heavily and nods, then pulls Yuuri through the apartment and into his bedroom. The big white bed of Yuuri’s dreams is exactly as he hoped; the rest of the room is dominated by floor-to-ceiling windows covered by gauzy grey curtains. Yuuri climbs up onto the bed and flips around to snuggle back against the pillows. Victor is still standing by the door, dumbstruck.

“Come on, Victor,” Yuuri purrs, and his heart is beating double-time as he waits, watches Victor slowly strip his shirt off and then drop his pants, and then crawl across the bed until he slides between Yuuri’s thighs. He’s just as magnificent as Yuuri remembers, cut abs, smooth pale skin. Cerulean eyes that look like he’s about to devour Yuuri whole.

And his cock. Oh God, it’s gorgeous. Slender, yes, but a good length and the ridge on the head is going to be glorious to get his tongue around.

Yuuri’s so ready.

Victor interrupts Yuuri’s cock-based raptures. “You’re a bit overdressed,” he says, and tugs on Yuuri’s belt. “I want to unwrap you, my Yuuri. See what you’ve got for me.”

Yuuri takes a deep breath. He knows for a fact there’s nothing to worry about, but the specimen of perfection in front of him makes it a bit difficult to remember that. He slips his shirt over his head and tosses it over on the floor, then makes quick work of his jeans, shoving them down over his thighs as Victor tugs on the cuffs to pull them all the way off.

“You’re wearing the same underwear as your picture,” Victor says, and his smile turns filthy. “And just as nicely filled out.” Yuuri damn near embarrasses himself because he squeaks a bit as Victor slides a hand up his thigh, his thumb just shy of brushing his cock, and curls his fingers around the waistband of Yuuri’s underwear. “May I?”

Yuuri just nods, lifts a little to help Victor tug down his briefs and as they get down to his feet Yuuri flicks them off.

 Finally. He’s completely bare to Victor’s ravenous gaze, and his chest starts feeling tight as Victor’s glance slides down his body and back up again.

“Oh my. I’m certainly going to feel that in the morning. I had no idea.”

Yuuri feels a jolt down to his toes. He’s going to feel—does he mean—

Victor chooses that moment to climb into his lap and straddle his thighs, leaving absolutely no room for doubt as to what he wants. Yuuri’s cock is now fit snugly in the cleft of Victor’s ass, Victor’s cock pressed between their stomachs. Victor curls down to press a kiss to the corner of Yuuri’s mouth, nip his bottom lip and lick his way inside. Yuuri feels covered, surrounded, immersed in Victor’s body, and he still wants more. He splays his hands across Victor’s back and grinds into him a bit, making them both gasp.

“I prepared for this,” Victor whispers, and Yuuri’s body goes hot at his words, dark and filthy and low and only for him. “I’ve been waiting for you for weeks now, ready to bring you here, with me. I want you entirely, my love. To sleep with you, wake up with you. Train with you. Eat with you. Love with you. Please, Yuuri. I need you.”

Yuuri can barely trust himself to speak. He slides his fingers down Victor’s back until he finds his entrance, and yes, holy fuck, he’s open and slightly soft. “Yes,” he hisses, “God yes. Everything.” He rubs tiny circles over Victor’s hole until Victor shudders, keens above him. Victor reaches over and pulls a bottle of lube and a condom out from under the pillows and hands it over. He barely can get the wrapper off, has to roll on the condom blind, before he flips the cap on the lube open with shaking hands.  He pours out a little too much, but from what he remembers from the one time he was on the receiving end of this, there’s no such thing as too much.  So he uses a bit of the leftover to stroke over Victor’s cock, earning a surprised hiss that melts into a moan that goes straight to the pleasure center of Yuuri’s brain.

“So gorgeous, Victor,” Yuuri says, as he continues to touch him, draw the circle of his fingers over the ridge, swipe his thumb over the head. “I can’t believe I’m here with you, like this. I’ve dreamed of you for so long. So long.” Yuuri can feel his throat start to tighten again, overcome with the magnitude of what they’re doing.

Victor presses forward and kisses Yuuri intensely while at the same time gently, slowly, sinking himself down on Yuuri’s cock. Yuuri can feel the way his body stretches to accommodate him, the way Victor slowly settles himself with deep, heavy breaths until his ass is cradled by Yuuri’s hips. Victor is so tall compared to him, but his body is folded and bowed to bring himself level enough to brush his cheek against Yuuri’s hair.

“Ohhhhh,” Victor sighs, and presses his forehead to Yuuri’s. “Feels so good.”

Yuuri hitches a breath. The heat, the tight grip of Victor’s body is going to undo him. He lifts his hips a fraction, just to see how it would feel, and Victor gasps. Yes, that’s what he’s looking for, a bit of a surprise. He does it again, and Victor pulls back to look him in the eye, and he’s got a smirk on his flushed face.

“I was right. I’m definitely going to feel that.”

“Good,” Yuuri says, and rolls his hips again. “I hope you think of nothing but that tomorrow when you try to do a sit spin and everyone wonders what’s wrong with you.” Yuuri can’t believe his own mouth, feeling bold as he fucks up into him again and clamps his hands around Victor’s thighs. “You deserve it after teasing me with the picture of you jerking off in the shower.”

Victor digs his hands into Yuuri’s shoulders and retaliates with an exquisite twist of his own hips. Yuuri’s eyes fall shut, overwhelmed. “All I could think about was your mouth on me,” Victor says, his breaths coming out in little pants as their bodies meet. “My mouth on you. Fucking you, like this. Touch me, please, Yuuri, _please_ —“

Yuuri uncurls one hand from Victor’s thigh and tries to hang on to some semblance of reason when he strokes Victor’s cock, slick and hot and hard in his hand. It’s just moments before Victor bites off a choked gasp and comes, the warm flood pulsing across Yuuri’s stomach. He’s smiling through it, his face reflecting nothing but bliss until he opens his eyes and pins Yuuri with a gaze that’s nothing but love.

Yuuri can’t look away. He feels Victor tighten up around him, fucking down onto him until the coil of his own orgasm is sitting low and heavy in his groin. The rest of the world is falling away, his vision turning fuzzy and grey at the edges until nothing is left but Victor’s beautiful eyes, holding him steady until his orgasm overtakes him and it all goes dark, Victor kissing him through it and whispering in his ear.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The alarm the next morning is absolute hell.

Yuuri is exhausted, Victor is awake but groaning. Yuuri blinks for a moment, then remembers what they’d done the night before and hides his ridiculous grin in a pillow. He can’t believe he had the nerve for that, honestly.

“Ow,” Victor says, and Yuuri looks up quickly.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry! Did I—did I hurt you?” Yuuri yanks down the blankets and examines Victor’s body, where a few dark bruises on his thighs tell the tale of Yuuri’s passionate grip. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I did that. “

“That’s not the part that hurts,” Victor says, and Yuuri goes completely red.  “You told me you hoped I’d remember you today, that I deserved it.”

“Yes, but I was just teasing! I should have been more careful, I should have—“

Victor waves off his protests with a kiss, deep and joyful. “No, none of that. I knew I’d not be able to hold back once I saw you. I’d not change a minute.“ He cards a hand through Yuuri’s hair with affection. “Now. I must get to the rink or Yakov will have my head.  You’re excused until Monday. But I will come back for you at lunch, so you can introduce yourself. Go back to sleep, now,” Victor adds, and guides him back to lie down. It’s so soft and warm, Yuuri thinks, as his eyes slide closed and Victor rubs circles on his back.

“Sleep now, my only love.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Yuuri blinks awake again to the weak winter sun gleaming in a watery pool across the bed. It’s near ten, late afternoon to his body clock but after the flight and their antics the night before Yuuri isn’t surprised he was able to sleep another four hours after Victor left him. He wanders around the apartment, finds fruit in a bowl and some sort of healthy looking cereal in the kitchen, eats, and then goes back to take a shower.

The frosted glass shower door immediately brings up memories of Victor, hard and abandoned to pleasure, standing right where Yuuri is standing now. He can feel himself growing hard under the spray, imagining it. He swipes his hand over the head of his cock and shudders.

He wishes Victor were here now, to experience it with him. To recreate an image that’s haunted him for weeks now. And it suddenly hits him, an idea that’s so ridiculous and so perfect, and so necessary, he can’t help himself. He got to this point by letting Victor guide him, so why not continue?

He quickly finishes up and turns the water off, hops out and dries his hands so he can set up his phone on the countertop, until he’s sure he can get a similar angle as the picture Victor sent to him. He sets up the video and hops back in, figuring a good screenshot of a video has a better chance of getting what he wants. He splays a hand on the glass door and strokes himself a few times, head bowed like he remembers. Victor’s back knee was popped just a little, so Yuuri does that, too. In all he lets the video run for a minute or so, then jumps out to turn it off.

He’s so hard it aches. The next one is going to be a bit more difficult, but he wraps a towel around his waist and breathes deeply until he can feel his erection start to subside a tiny bit, then hops up onto the counter and lets his knees fall apart just ever so slightly. He turns the camera on and messes with angles and lighting until he thinks he’s got almost the exact same shot as Victor’s, even if his cock is a bit harder.

But oh, this next one, he thinks, as he walks into the bedroom and looks at the wreck of the bed – their bed – this next one is his alone.

He arranges the pillows until they’re a pile to lean against. The sheets and blankets can stay as they are, a nest of half-pulled off grey sheet and crisp white duvet, a bottle of lube still poking out from under the edge of a pillow. Yuuri lies back and takes himself in hand, jerks himself back to full hardness, the edge of his orgasm cutting like a fine blade. He then raises his phone above his head and takes a shot of his own body from his head to the tops of his thighs, his aroused and wanting face, his hand wrapped around his cock, rosy and leaking against his stomach.

Then he drops the phone and finishes himself off, arching against the bed and gasping into a pillow that smells like Victor.

Once he comes down, he cleans up and sets up his texts. He looks at the clock. It’s almost eleven. Victor probably will break at twelve, but a little encouragement to hurry back won’t hurt him. He fires off the first picture, from the shower, and then waits.

Six minutes.

<!!!!!!!!>

Yuuri smirks. Oh, baby. You’re not even prepared.

He sends the next in response, filtering his towel shot into black and white, just to give it a tiny bit of edge over Victor’s own.

Ten minutes.

<I’m trying to teach Yurio a combination layback spin do you realize how hard that is while fighting an erection?>

Yuuri grins, feeling utterly wicked, now. Why hadn’t done this before? He knows his own fears were getting in the way, but it feels so much easier today. He needed Victor to chase the anxiety away, he realizes. Needed him in the flesh, first.

He sends his last picture, the one of himself hard and wanting, and stares at his phone.

Five. Ten. Fifteen.

<I’ll be home in ten minutes. Be ready for me.>

Yuuri laughs out loud. He certainly will be.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

Hours later, Yuuri drags himself out of his sex coma to check his phone. He heard a chirp a few minutes ago, so he figures he’d better at least make sure no one is trying to get in touch.

It’s Chris Giacometti.

He’s sent him an eggplant emoji and a winking face.

Yuuri whips around and smacks a grinning Victor Nikiforov right in the face with a pillow.

He _knew_ he shouldn’t have sent those stupid pictures.

 

 

 


End file.
